by Rosanne Adamo
253 words (2 minutes)I kept telling myself that losing just one more pound would make me happy. Well, one more turned into five more and five more turned into ten more and before I knew it, I was staring out of the window of a mental institution. I became very familiar with that window over the course of my 3-week stay. It was my only connection to the world outside that I had once lived in. Sure I was upset that I was locked up but I didnt that that what I was doing was wrong. I was only seven pounds away from my goal. Seven more pounds and I would be the 92-pound girl I wanted to be. I knew I could do it.
So I told all the shrinks what they wanted to hear and ate the food with a smile on my face. The day I returned home I ran to the scale and realized it was now ten pounds I had to lose to be perfect. Of course, my parents werent smart enough to see the gradual weight loss. They didnt notice until four months later when my 90-pound body collapsed in the hallway. Thats when I knew I was going to have to battle this self-image issue everyday of my life. They say Im better. Im at a very healthy weight now and after three and a half years of fighting this, Im a recovered anorexic. So, why does it still hurt so badly to look in the mirror?